Chapter 50
Blood is Just Another Word for Love
Violet
Ouch . I wake up in my bed, buried in blankets like a goddamn corpse.
My bed… since when is this my bed? My body aches in ways I’m not prepared for.
A delicious, terrible reminder that last night happened.
That Asher fucking Redmont happened, and I let him.
No, I begged him. And judging by the way every muscle in my body is currently protesting, he delivered.
I groan, rolling over onto my stomach, and immediately regret the movement. My thighs are sore, my skin is sensitive, and I’m pretty sure my dignity is lying dead somewhere back at that damn lab.
Oh yeah, the lab.
The sex wasn’t even the worst part. No, that was just the inevitable fallout of what really happened—the absolute, unfiltered rage that exploded when I found out Asher had a team working on Zephyra behind my back.
My Zephyra. The betrayal burned, hot and all-consuming, and instead of doing the mature thing—like handling it with a calm, logical discussion—I did what any self-destructive disaster would do.
I poked the bear. Called him weak. Dared him to prove me wrong.
And, well, he did. With violent, primal, earth-shattering efficiency.
Right there in the lab. Against the counter. Papers flying. Equipment rattling.
And as if that wasn’t enough, we had an audience.
I snort, burying my face into my pillow.
If I had known people were watching through the window, I might’ve put on a better show.
Asher, though? Oh, he was livid. Absolutely seething when he found out.
Meanwhile, I nearly died laughing. What can I say?
I like to watch, and apparently, I like to be watched.
Somewhere between that and the car ride home, things shifted.
He got hurt—his stitches tore, and I found myself, against all odds, actually concerned.
And for once, he let me see him, not the arrogant and untouchable heir to the Redmont empire, just..
. him. I touched him, held pressure against his wound, and for a brief moment, we weren’t enemies or whatever twisted thing we are.
We were just two broken people sitting in the dark, pretending we didn’t just destroy each other.
His breath had gone shallow, mine too, but I still reached for him, pressing my fingers over his wound like I could hold him together.
Like he wasn’t the one ripping me apart.
He let me. That was the worst part—he let me.
And then... sleep.
I should be ashamed. Maybe I am. But beneath the soreness, beneath the mess, something inside me feels… satisfied. And that’s the real problem.
I groan again, pushing myself up, my body screaming in protest. The clothes I have on are not the same ones I was wearing last night.
Someone changed me. That someone is probably Asher, which means he undressed me, which means I have exactly three seconds to push that thought out of my brain before I combust.
I shake it off and grab my phone from the nightstand, but before I can check the time, it vibrates in my hand.
Ella.
I swipe to answer. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Vi!” Ella’s voice is practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay, you are not going to believe this. I just found out about this huge competition—like, massive, life-changing huge. If I win, I could get another scholarship! Full ride, even extra stipends for research!”
I force a smile, my body still aching but my heart cracking just a little. “That’s amazing, Ella.”
“I know! It’s either debate or a science competition—I haven’t decided which to enter yet, but I have to choose soon. Either way, it’s a shot at something big. This could mean everything for me.”
My throat tightens. She’s already got Langport. She’s already on her way to the future I wanted for her. But she’s still chasing more, still striving. Still trying to make me proud.
“You’re going to crush it,” I tell her, my voice steady even as my chest aches. “They won’t know what hit them.”
Ella hesitates. “I know you’re working really hard, Vi.” Her voice softens, slipping past my defenses. “One day, I’m going to make all of this worth it for us.”
I close my eyes, swallowing against the lump forming in my throat. “You already have.”
She laughs, but I can hear the emotion in it. “I love you.”
“I love you too, El.” I hang up before the tears can spill over.
My fingers hover over my screen and I switch to my photos.
Scrolling back, I land on one that makes my chest ache—a picture of Ella as a kid, curled up in an oversized sweater that nearly swallowed her whole, while watching me study like I was the most fascinating person in the world.
She had fallen asleep that night, face pressed into the table, tiny hands still clutching her toy rabbit.
I exhale sharply. Enough nostalgia. I need a distraction.
Before I can think twice, I open my messages and fire off a text to Cami.
ME: Ella just called. She’s killing it at Langport. Meanwhile, I’m being held hostage in a billionaire’s penthouse.
CAMI: I’d say blink twice if you need help, but let’s be real. If I send Mav to rescue you, you’ll probably just end up in bed with him instead of escaping.
ME: Gag. Never say that again.
CAMI: Sorry, I forgot you’re too busy making bedroom eyes at the crime lord himself.
ME: I AM NOT.
CAMI: You totally are.
I scowl, shoving my phone away before I can type back something I’ll regret.
I am not making bedroom eyes at Asher. I’m not doing anything with Asher.
Images of all the things we have done so far, push through my mind.
Ugh. Whatever. Breakfast. I need coffee and maybe something to throw at his smug face.
I force myself out of bed, groggy, unsteady, and aching in all the ways that should make me angry but don’t.
As I reach the top of the stairs, low voices catch my attention. Asher’s, calm and commanding, and someone else’s—one of his men, maybe. I pause, barely breathing.
“It’s being handled,” the other man murmurs.
“Handled isn’t good enough. I want confirmation,” Asher replies, his voice edged with authority. “If it’s compromised, take care of it. Quietly. I don’t need a mess.”
A heavy pause.
“Understood, sir.”
Footsteps approach, and I quickly move, acting like I wasn’t just eavesdropping on something that sounds very much like a crime.
Asher steps into view in sweats and a fitted tee, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t just plotting something over coffee. His gaze flickers over me, amusement dancing in his expression. “You know, eavesdropping is rude, Violet.”
I cross my arms. “Then maybe don’t conduct your shady business in the hallway.”
His smirk is infuriating. “Duly noted.”
I roll my eyes and push past him, heading downstairs, trying to pretend I didn’t just get a glimpse of something I probably wasn’t supposed to hear. The floor is cold beneath my feet.
The smell of coffee hits me first. Then, the sound of muttered Polish.
I step into the kitchen to find Boris standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan while mumbling to himself. Asher follows me into the kitchen, grabbing his coffee like he’s the most relaxed man on the planet.
He looks obnoxiously sexy and completely unaffected.
I, on the other hand, am still trying to figure out how I got from the car to my bed without remembering it.
Boris glances over his shoulder, and the moment his sharp eyes land on me, they soften.
"Ah, finally! I was about to come up there and drag you out of bed myself.
" He abandons the stove for a second, throwing his hands up in exaggerated exasperation.
"You disappear on me all night, leave me to deal with that one"—he jerks a thumb toward Asher—"and then you come down looking like you've been hit by a truck. "
I snort. "Thanks, Boris. I missed you too."
Boris turns, eyes locking onto me before immediately narrowing on my neck. His lips press together, and then he sighs. "Ah, so this is why you slept so late. You were being eaten alive."
I frown before realizing what he’s staring at. My hand flies to my neck, fingertips brushing over the sore imprint of Asher’s teeth.
Asher, of course, grins like the devil himself. "What can I say? I get carried away."
Boris rolls his eyes, muttering something in Polish that sounds more amused than annoyed, like a man who knows exactly where this is heading.
"Of course. Only you two could turn attempted murder into foreplay.
" He turns back to the stove, shaking his head with a knowing smirk. "I should start taking bets on when you finally admit you’re in love. I’d make a fortune. "
I turn toward Asher. “You’re too smug for someone who looks like they lost a fight with a bear,” I mutter, picking up my fork.
Asher, still grinning, shrugs. “I think I won, actually.”
Boris snorts, shaking his head as he plates food. “You look like hell. She looks worse. I do not want to know who won.”
I stab a piece of food aggressively. “You changed my clothes?”
“I carried you to bed,” he says, leaning back like he expects applause. “You were exhausted after the... spectacle.”
Boris barks out a laugh. "Spectacle? Boy, that was assault."
I scowl, chewing hard just to keep from saying something stupid.
The truth is, I don’t know how to feel about it.
About him. About the way my body still aches in a way that isn’t entirely unwelcome.
About the way my chest tightens when I remember the car ride home, the way he let me see something vulnerable under all that arrogance.
I hate him for what he did. I hate myself for wanting him anyway.
I hate that no matter how much I fight it, I know damn well I’d crawl back to him, let him destroy me all over again, just to feel this alive.
Boris eyes the tension between us and mutters something in Polish before shaking his head. "Two people fighting like this? Either end up together or buried six feet under. And I don't see a shovel."
I nearly choke. Asher grins.
“Not happening” I snap.
Boris just shrugs. “We will see.”
Asher watches me, and for half a second, there’s something dangerous in his gaze—something almost tender. Then the smirk returns, wiping it away like it never existed. "Hate to break it to you, but Boris might have a point."
I narrow my eyes. “Eat your breakfast, Redmont.”
His smirk deepens, but he doesn’t argue. And despite myself, despite everything—I feel the smallest flicker of something familiar. The banter. The tension. The piece of me that almost misses this before I remember why I should hate him.
Boris watches us, shaking his head, and mutters in Polish again. This time, I don’t need a translation. Whatever he just said, I know it’s something along the lines of ‘this will end in disaster.’ And right now, I’m not sure if that’s a warning, a promise, or a curse I’ve already fallen for.